57. TO THOMAS KEATS Keswick, June 29th [1818]. MY DEAR TOм- I cannot make my Journal as distinct and actual as I could wish, from having been engaged in writing to George, and therefore I must tell you without circumstance that we proceeded from Ambleside to Rydal, saw the Waterfalls there, and called on Wordsworth, who was not at home, nor was any one of his family. I wrote a note and left it on the mantel-piece. Thence on we came to the foot of Helvellyn, where we slept, but could not ascend it for the mist. I must mention that from Rydal we passed Thirlswater, and a fine pass in the Mountains from Helvellyn we came to Keswick on Derwent Water. The approach to Derwent Water surpassed Windermere — it is richly wooded, and shut in with rich-toned Mountains. From Helvellyn to Keswick was eight miles to Breakfast, after which we took a complete circuit of the Lake, going about ten miles, and seeing on our way the Fall of Lowdore. I had an easy climb among the streams, about the fragments of Rocks and should have got I think to the summit, but unfortunately I was damped by slipping one leg into a squashy hole. There is no great body of water, but the accompaniment is delightful; for it oozes out from a cleft in perpendicular Rocks, all fledged with Ash and other beautiful trees. It is a strange thing how they got there. At the south end of the Lake, the Mountains of Borrowdale are perhaps as fine as anything we have seen. On our return from this circuit, we ordered dinner, and set forth about a mile and a half on the Penrith road, to see the Druid temple. We had a fag up hill, rather too near dinner-time, which was rendered void by the gratification of seeing those aged stones on a gentle rise in the midst of the Mountains, which at that time darkened all around, except at the fresh opening of the Vale of St. John. We went to bed rather fatigued, but not so much so as to hinder us getting up this morning to mount Skiddaw. It promised all along to be fair, and we had fagged and tugged nearly to the top, when, at half-past six, there came a Mist upon us and shut out the view. We did not, however, lose anything by it: we were high enough without mist to see the coast of Scotland the Irish Sea - the hills beyond Lancaster and nearly all the large ones of Cumberland and Westmoreland, particularly Helvellyn and Scawfell. It grew colder and colder as we ascended, and we were glad, at about three parts of the way, to taste a little rum which the Guide brought with him, mixed, mind ye, with Mountain water. I took two glasses going and one returning. It is about six miles from where I am writing to the top So we have walked ten miles before Breakfast to-day. We went up with two others, very good sort of fellows - All felt, on arising into the cold air, that same elevation which a cold bath gives one I felt as if I were going to a Tournament. Wordsworth's house is situated just on the rise of the foot of Mount Rydal; his parlour-window looks directly down Winandermere; I do not think I told you how fine the Vale of Grasmere is, and how I discovered the ancient woman seated on Helm Crag'- We shall proceed immediately to Carlisle, intending to enter Scotland on the 1st of July viâ [Carlisle,] July 1st. We are this morning at Carlisle. After Skiddaw, we walked to Treby the oldest market town in Cumberland where we were greatly amused by a country dancingschool holden at the Tun, it was indeed 'no new cotillon fresh from France.' No, they kickit and jumpit with mettle extraordinary, and whiskit, and friskit, and toed it, and go'd it, and twirl'd it, and whirl'd it, and stamped it, and sweated it, tattooing the floor like mad. The difference between our country dances and these Scottish figures is about the same as leisurely stirring a cup o' Tea and beating up a batterpudding. I was extremely gratified to think that, if I had pleasures they knew nothing of, they had also some into which I could not possibly enter. I hope I shall not return without having got the Highland fling. There was as fine a row of boys and girls as you ever saw; some beautiful faces, and one exquisite mouth. I never felt so near the glory of Patriotism, the glory of making by any means a country happier. This is what I like better than scenery. I fear our continued moving from place to place will prevent our becoming learned in village affairs: we are mere creatures of Rivers, Lakes, and Mountains. Our yesterday's journey was from Treby to Wigton, and from Wigton to Carlisle. The Cathedral does not appear very fine the Castle is very ancient, and of brick. The City is very various — old white-washed narrow streets — broad redbrick ones more modern - I will tell you anon whether the inside of the Cathedral is worth looking at. It is built of sandy red stone or Brick. We have now walked 114 miles, and are merely a little tired in the thighs, and a little blistered. We shall ride 38 miles to Dumfries, when we shall linger awhile about Nithsdale and Galloway. I have written two letters to Liverpool. I found a letter from sister George; very delightful indeed: I shall preserve it in the bottom of my knapsack for you. [Dumfries, evening of same day, July 1.] You will see by this sonnet ['On visiting the tomb of Burns.' See p. 120] that I am at Dumfries. We have dined in Scotland. Burns's tomb is in the Churchyard corner, not very much to my taste, though on a scale large enough to show they wanted to honour him. Mrs. Burns lives in this place; most likely we shall see her to- This Sonnet I have written in a strange mood, half-asleep. I know not how it is, the Clouds the Sky, the Houses, all morrow seem anti-Grecian and anti-Charlemagnish. I will endeavour to get rid of my preju dices and tell you fairly about the Scotch. [Dumfries,] July 2nd. In Devonshire they say, 'Well, where be ye going?' Here it is, 'How is it wi' yoursel?' A man on the Coach said the horses took a Hellish heap o' drivin'; the same fellow pointed out Burns's Tomb with a deal of life-There de ye see it, amang the trees — white, wi' a roond tap ?' The first well-dressed Scotchman we had any conversation with, to our surprise confessed himself a Deist. The careful manner of delivering his opinions, not before he had received several encouraging hints from us, was very amusing. Yesterday was an immense Horse-fair at Dumfries, so that we met numbers of men and women on the road, the women nearly all barefoot, with their shoes and clean stockings in hand, ready to put on and look smart in the Towns. There are plenty of wretched cottages whose smoke has no outlet but by the door. We have now begun upon Whisky, called here Whuskey, smart stuff it is. Mixed like our liquors, with sugar and water, 't is called toddy; very pretty drink, and much praised by Burns. 58. TO FANNY KEATS very · - set off from Lancaster on foot with our Knapsacks on, and have walked a Little zig-zag through the mountains and Lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland - We came from Carlisle yesterday to this place - We are employed in going up Mountains, looking at strange towns, prying into old ruins and eating very hearty breakfasts. Here we are full in the Midst of broad Scotch How is it a' wi' yoursel' — the Girls are walking about bare-footed and in the worst cottages the smoke finds its way out of the door. I shall come home full of news for you and for fear I should choak you by too great a dose at once I must make you used to it by a letter or two. We have been taken for travelling Jewellers, Razor sellers and Spectacle vendors because friend Brown wears a pair. The first place we stopped at with our Knapsacks contained one Richard Bradshaw, a notorious tippler. He stood in the shape of a 3 and ballanced himself as well as he could saying with his nose right in Mr. Brown's face Do-yo-u sell spect-ta-cles?' Mr. Abbey says we are Don Quixotes tell him we are more generally taken for Pedlars. All I hope is that we may not be taken for excisemen in this whisky country. We are generally up about 5 walking before breakfast and we complete our 20 miles before dinner. Yesterday we visited Burns's Tomb and this morning the fine Ruins of Lincluden. [Auchencairn, same day, July 2.] I had done thus far when my coat came back fortified at all points so as we lose no time we set forth again through Galloway all very pleasant and pretty with no fatigue when one is used to it — We are in the midst of Meg Merrilies's country of whom I suppose you have heard. [Here follow the lines, Meg Merrilies,' p. 243.] If you like these sort of ballads I will now and then scribble one for you—if I send any to Tom I'll tell him to send them to you. [Kirkcudbright, evening of same day, July 2.] I have so many interruptions that I cannot manage to fill a Letter in one day since I scribbled the song we have walked through a beautiful Country to Kirkcudbright-at which place I will write you a song about myself [Here Keats throws off the nonsense lines There was a Naughty Boy,' given in the Appendix, p. 244.] me [Newton Stewart, July 4.] My dear Fanny, I am ashamed of writing you such stuff, nor would I if it were not for being tired after my day's walking, and ready to tumble into bed so fatigued that when I am asleep you might sew my nose to my great toe and trundle me round the town, like a Hoop, without waking me. Then I get so hungry a Ham goes but a very little way and fowls are like Larks to A Batch of Bread I make no more ado with than a sheet of parliament; and I can eat a Bull's head as easily as I used to do Bull's eyes. I take a whole string of Pork Sausages down as easily as a Pen'orth of Lady's fingers. Ah dear I must soon be contented with an acre or two of oaten cake a hogshead of Milk and a Clothes-basket of Eggs morning noon and night when I get among the Highlanders. Before we see them we shall pass into Ireland and have a chat with the Paddies, and look at the Giant's Causeway which you must have heard of I have not time to tell you particularly for I have to send a Journal to Tom of whom you shall hear all particulars or from me when I return. Since I began this we have walked sixty miles to Newton Stewart at which place I put in this Letter-to-night we sleep at Glenluce to-morrow at Portpatrick and the next day we shall cross in the passage boat to Ireland. I hope Miss Abbey has quite recovered. Present my Respects to her and to Mr. and Mrs. Abbey. God bless you. Your affectionate Brother, JOHN. Do write me a Letter directed to Inver ness, Scotland. 59. TO THOMAS KEATS Auchtercairn [for Auchencairn,] MY DEAR TOм- We are now in Meg Merrilies's country, and have this morning passed through some parts exactly suited to her. Kirkcudbright County is very beautiful, very wild, with craggy hills, somewhat in the Westmoreland fashion. We have come down from Dumfries to the sea-coast part of it. The following song [the Meg Merrilies piece] you will have from Dilke, but perhaps you would like it here. [Newton Stewart,] July 5th [for 4th]. Yesterday was passed in Kirkcudbright, the country is very rich, very fine, and with a little of Devon. I am now writing at Newton Stewart, six miles into Wigtown. Our landlady of yesterday said very few southerners passed hereaways. The children jabber away, as if in a foreign language; the bare-footed girls look very much in keeping, I mean with the scenery about them. Brown praises their cleanliness and appearance of comfort, the neatness of their cottages, etc.—it may be they are very squat among trees and fern and heath and broom, on levels slopes and heights but I wish they were as snug as those up the Devonshire valleys. We are lodged and entertained in great varieties. We dined yesterday on dirty Bacon, dirtier eggs, and dirtiest potatoes, with a slice of salmon we breakfast this morning in a nice carpeted room, with sofa, hair-bottomed Chairs, and green-baized Mahogany. A spring by the road-side is always welcome we drink water for dinner, diluted with a Gill of whisky. [Donaghadee] July 6. Yesterday morning we set out from Glenluce, going some distance round to see some rivers: they were scarcely worth the while. We went on to Stranraer, in a burning sun, and had gone about six miles when the Mail overtook us: we got up, were at Port Patrick in a jiffey, and I am writing now in little Ireland. The dialects on the neighbouring shores of Scotland and Ireland are much the same, yet I can perceive a great difference in the nations, from the chamber-maid at this nate toone kept by Mr. Kelly. She is fair, kind, and ready to laugh, because she is out of the horrible dominion of the Scotch Kirk. A Scotch girl stands in terrible awe of the Elders poor little Susannahs, they will scarcely laugh, and their Kirk is greatly to be damned. These Kirk-men have done Scotland good (Query ?). They have made men, women; old men, young men ; old women, young women; boys, girls; and all infants careful-so that they are formed into regular Phalanges of savers and gainers. Such a thrifty army cannot fail to enrich their Country, and give it a greater appearance of Comfort, than that of their poor rash neighbourhood - these Kirk-men have done Scotland harm; they have banished puns, and laughing, and kissing, etc. (except in cases where the very danger and crime must make it very gustful). I shall make a full stop at kissing, for after that there should be a better parenthesis, and go on to remind you of the fate of Burns — poor unfortunate fellow, his disposition was Southern - how sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged, in self-defence, to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and rot (?) in things attainable, that it may not have leisure to go mad after things which are not. No man, in such matters, will be content with the experience of others- It is true that out of suffering there is no dignity, no greatness, that in the most abstracted pleasure there is no lasting happiness Yet who would not like to discover over again that Cleopatra was a Gipsy, Helen a rogue, and Ruth a deep one? I have not sufficient reasoning faculty to settle the doctrine of thrift, as it is consistent with the dignity of human Society - with the happiness of Cottagers. All I can do is by plump contrasts; were the fingers made to squeeze a guinea or a white hand? were the lips made to hold a pen or a kiss? and yet in Cities man is shut out from his fellows if he is poor- the cottager must be very dirty, and very wretched, if she be not thrifty the present state of society demands this, and this convinces me that the world is very young, and in a very ignorant state - We live in a barbarous age- I would sooner be a wild deer, than a girl under the dominion of the Kirk; and I would sooner be a wild hog, than be the occasion of a poor Creature's penance before those execrable elders. It is not so far to the Giant's Causeway as we supposed We thought it 70, and hear it is only 48 miles - So we shall leave one of our knapsacks here at Donaghadee, take our immediate wants, and be back in a week, when we shall proceed to the County of Ayr. In the Packet yesterday we heard some ballads from two old men - One was a Romance which seemed very poor- then there was 'The Battle of the Boyne,' then 'Robin Huid,' as they call him • Before the King you shall go, go, go; before the King you shall go.' - [Stranraer,] July 9th. We stopped very little in Ireland, and that you may not have leisure to marvel at our speedy return to Port Patrick, I will tell you that it is as dear living in Ireland as at the Hummums - thrice the expense of Scotland-it would have cost us £15 before our return; moreover we found those 48 miles to be Irish ones, which reach to 70 English - so having walked to Belfast one day, and back to Donaghadee the next, we left Ireland with a fair breeze. We slept last night at Port Patrick, when I was gratified by a letter from you. On our walk in Ireland, we had too much opportunity to see the worse than nakedness, the rags, the dirt and misery, of the poor common Irish A Scotch cottage, though in that sometimes the smoke has no exit but at the door, is a palace to an Irish one. We could observe that impetuosity in Man and Woman- - We had the pleasure of finding our way through a Peat-bog, three miles long at least-dreary, flat, dank, black, and spongy - here and there were poor dirty Creatures, and a few strong men cutting or carting Peat We heard on passing into Belfast through a most wretched suburb, that most disgusting of all noises, worse than the Bagpipes - the laugh of a Monkey - the chatter of women the scream of a Macaw-I mean the sound of the Shuttle. What a tremendous difficulty is the improvement of such people. I cannot conceive how a mind "with child" of philanthropy could grasp at its possibility with me it is absolute despairAt a miserable house of entertainment, half-way between Donaghadee and Belfast, were two men sitting at Whisky -one a labourer, and the other I took to be a drunken weaver - the labourer took me to be a Frenchman, and the other hinted at bounty-money; saying he was ready to take it On calling for the letters at Port Patrick, the man snapped out "what Regiment?" On our return from Belfast we met a sedan—the Duchess of Dunghill. It is no laughing matter though. Imagine the worst dog-kennel you ever saw, placed upon two poles from a mouldy fencingIn such a wretched thing sat a squalid old woman, squat like an ape half-starved, from a scarcity of biscuit in its passage from Madagascar to the Cape, with a pipe in her mouth, and looking out with a roundeyed skinny-lidded inanity; with a sort of horizontal idiotic movement of her headSquat and lean she sat, and puffed out the smoke, while two ragged tattered girls carried her along. What a thing would be a history of her life and sensations; I shall endeavour when I have thought a little more, to give you my idea of the difference between the Scotch and Irish-The two |